


Little Accidents

by Seldarius



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 14:06:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: A collection of small incidents: Jack gives some advice - with unforeseen results; Dot finds herself more involved in Phryne's love life than she'd wanted; Cec wakes up in the completely wrong bed; Mr. Butler plays cupid, shooting himself in the foot; Hugh learns that seafood is rather unromantic; Mac's prank goes awry and Phryne detects something she really didn't want to know.





	1. Little Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> On special request I have decided to copy over my old fics from fanfiction. This one was originally posted between Dec 4, 2013 to Dec 17, 2013.

Monday mornings - How he hated them! The only thing worse than a Monday morning had to be one set after a worked through weekend and a sleepless night which he had both accomplished in the last 48 hours. Detective-Inspector Robinson suppressed a yawn and tried to concentrate on the protocol of the case he had just closed. The alleged killer was securely locked up in the cells since exactly three am this morning. Right after Jack had physically pulled him off Phryne Fisher who had tried and utterly failed, to disguise herself as his devoted wife. The latter hadn't been that much of a surprise. In opposite to their serial killer kneeing him in the guts before launching himself onto Phryne, trying to strangle her. Thank God that Constable Collins had had the presence of mind to grab Miss Fisher's dropped weapon from the floor in the resulting struggle. While a golden pistol might not be the most masculine of looks, it had ended the fight and any more bloodshed with it. The Constable really started to come into his own, Jack caught himself thinking just as the younger police officer appeared in the door frame to his office. He looked just as tired as the Inspector felt, even though his ribs probably didn't hurt quite as much. The Inspector had to admit that it had been incredibly stupid of himself to let his guard drop even for that minute but he had been blind sided by Phryne's overt flirting that under the circumstances, had been risking more than his heart and sanity this time around. And to Jack's surprise her almost demise had not spoiled her mood in the slightest. On the contrary, during their nightcap or rather morning cap in her salon, sans alcohol due to his following duties, she had lost no time in luring him once again with those eyes that haunted him into his dreams. Jack swallowed hard at the memory, having to shake the thought off to return his attention to Hugh Collins who was currently walking towards his desk.  
“The protocol of the interview, Sir.” He stated unnecessarily.  
“Thank you, Collins.” The Inspector said, pretending to be busy even though he had been staring on a page blankly for what had to have been at least 15 minutes. Just as the Constable had reached the door, he remembered something.  
“Aren't you due to see the priest today, Constable? About the boundaries of holy matrimony and the necessity to follow the beam of the lighthouse that is the Vatican to involve yourself with Miss Williams?”  
Jack was too good of a detective to miss the small beads of sweat suddenly appearing on his Constables forehead.  
“Tomorrow, Sir, but thank you for remembering.”  
Technically, their conversation was finished with this but Hugh didn't seem to intend on moving.  
“Is anything the matter, Collins? Not getting cold feet are you?”  
Questioningly the DI raised his eyebrows, now finally giving his full attention to the young man who seemed to have frozen in the door frame.  
“No...yes, I mean. No. I still want to marry Dottie. It's all just a bit much...” He trailed off. Jack found himself suddenly very worried. While he was aware that Hugh Collins suffered somewhat of performance anxiety, there had never been a doubt in his mind that he would be married to Dorothy Williams within the year. The Inspector rose from his chair to step around the desk and gestured his fellow officer over. Sitting down at the edge of the desk he had a better look at the flustered face of his opposite, who cautiously walked closer.  
“What is going on, Collins? Out with it.”  
The Constable opened and shut his mouth a few times like a fish on the dry land, his eyes avoiding the DI's gaze. But the truth finally spilled out.  
“Everything, Sir. The converting; I'm still not sure how to break to my mother that I'm going to be catholic; and how to afford the wedding; and how are we going to deal with Dot wanting to stay on with Miss Fisher and...” At this his voice got so quiet Jack had a hard time making out the words, “...the other things that are expected of a married man to perform.”  
Inspector Robinson had trouble to hide his shock at what was implied.  
“Are you telling me you never have...?”  
Of course. Dottie Williams was a good catholic girl and Hugh too devoted and shy to ever have tried anything. The Constable proved this by turning the shade of a rather ripe tomato and staying silent. Jack Robinson cleared his throat, realising he was paddling in dangerous waters.  
“In my experience, Collins, that stuff is quite self-explanatory.” He tried carefully.  
“Miss Fisher has given me a book, some time ago. But it looks all... rather difficult.” Hugh now looked like he wanted to die on the spot talking to his higher ranking officer about this but nevertheless he pushed on. “I don't even know how to start.”  
At this the Inspector shook his head. Of course, Miss Fisher and her ideas. Maybe she should have given Collins some more practical advice. Then again, that thought left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.  
“Oh for gods sake, Collins. It's not that hard.”  
In sudden resolve Jack got up and beckoned Hugh over, to his own surprise wrapping an arm around his shoulder while settling the other hand on his hip. A pair of wide eyes stared at him in astonishment. The Inspector blamed his sleep deprivation for his sudden bluntness and decided to run with it rather than back down.  
“See, it's very simple. You just embrace her like this and then you kiss her and everything else leads to one ano-” At this point he stopped cold, as Hugh Collins decided to take a very practical approach to his lesson and kissed him.  
„Oh. God.“ Was all Jack found himself thinking. It wasn't bad, a bit like chicken. Hugh tasted of peppermint, which wasn't that much of a surprise and turned out to be a rather skillful kisser, which was. His arms that had been hanging weakly by his sides a moment ago, had started on their own agenda and snuck around the Inspectors back, pulling him closer, which brought them into a much more intimate position then originally intended. At the feel of the warmth seeping through the layers of fabric separating them, Jack couldn't help but think of Phryne. The longing to hold her just like this was sometimes overwhelming. He kissed back with a bit more vigor than he had meant to, running his hands over a very unfamiliar back and forgetting for a moment where he was and with whom. Hugh on the other side seemed to embrace his lesson just as much as his superior. His eagerness was a lot more exciting than it should have been and the Inspector found himself in a pool of mixed emotions running from a spell of arousal to total confusion. When they finally pulled back, both men had lost their breath. Looking into each others eyes broke the spell. Jack stepped back, letting his arms slip off the fellow officer and clearing his throat. His ears were burning in embarrassment.  
“So, this is how you do it, Collins. The rest I won't demonstrate, that you will have to work out with Miss Williams.” He stated as calmly as his current position would allow and made sure his clothes were still all in place before sitting down behind his desk, pointedly returning to his protocol. Hugh Collins stared a moment longer with glazed eyes at his superior then slowly moved towards the door.  
“Thank you, Sir.” It wasn't more than a hoarse whisper coloured with confusion.  
“Don't mention it.” Said DI Robinson, looking up. “Oh and Collins.”  
The Constable turned around and saw to his relief a small smile playing around the other officers lips.  
“I really believe we should not tell anyone about this little... lesson.”  
Hugh Collins nodded and closed the door behind himself. Jack returned to his work. Monday morning. Nothing like it.


	2. Little Secrets

Dorothy Williams was holding her breath. While that was a rather common occurrence since she had started to work for Miss Fisher, it usually happened for very different reasons. At this moment in time the maid wasn't hiding from a rapist, murderer or robber, but from her employer.  
It all had started harmless enough with the realisation that the bathtub in Miss Fisher's bedroom once again needed a good scrub. So Dot had put herself to work. And really she guessed it was her own fault. She probably should have left the door open or not hidden herself away behind the screen or... Truthfully she was not sure how she could have prevented what had happened next. Because the door had suddenly crashed open and when she had stared at it in shock she had spotted her Mistress who, in a motion that was best described as wrestling, had dragged a man through it behind herself, never detaching herself from his lips. The couple hadn't wasted much time disposing of some, if not all, clothes, somehow kicking the door shut in the process and crashing onto the bed that, Dot secretly found herself contemplating silently, she had only just fixed half an hour ago. Now there was a lot going on that a good catholic girl really shouldn't be witness to. To her surprise Dot Williams found it rather... interesting. She had never really thought too much about Sex, even though she was of course quite sure it needed to happen in order to have children with your husband. And yes, she also had known that it was something that quite regularly occurred in this very bedroom even if she chose to ignore that fact, mostly for her own sanity. Getting Miss Fisher's lifestyle into one small head with a rather strict priest's opinions on what it should be, was a task too big for Dot to accomplish in this life time. But here she was now, listening involuntarily to a lot of synchronised moaning and groaning and other noises that she could not quite sort. And while there was a heat on her face that was attached to a furious blush, there was also a warmth in her stomach that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Which was odd, really.  
However, that didn't solve the question of what to do. Dorothy was quite aware that she wasn't hidden well and while both her Mistress and her guest were obviously busy at this stage, it was only a question of time till they would resurface from whatever sphere they were floating around in. And then she would stand there, still holding on to a stupid Sponge and a tub of gumption with burning cheeks and a guilty look in her face. She always looked guilty even if she hadn't done anything forbidden. And this felt very forbidden indeed.  
Dot retreated a bit further behind the screen and wondered if she could just disappear into thin air. There was movement over on the bed and a few seconds later a muffled scream that brought on a new wave of heat to several parts of Dot's body, while mostly concentrating on her cheeks. In the chaos of emotions, she had almost missed the word, but when it finally sunk in, it shocked her somewhat. But before Miss Williams had time to contemplate, curiosity took over. Biting her lip, she snuck closer to have a look at the bed. What she saw didn't upset her as much as it really should have. Alright, she guessed she had seen Phryne Fisher naked a hundred times and while she looked rather different right now than in a bathtub, it wasn't really something that would surprise her loyal maid. There was currently not much to be seen of the men underneath her mistress, but Dot was also quite sure it was not the person she had been expecting. A coincidence? Or maybe... Dorothy couldn't help but smile to herself when she pulled back to her hiding spot. There was more moaning and groaning, focused on his side this time and Dot found she was slightly rolling her eyes. He did have a sense for the dramatic. For the form of build up he was showing off, it was over rather quickly and then all there was to hear was quiet panting. A rather breathless and completely unfamiliar voice finally spoke.  
“You could have said you have forgotten my name, Miss Fisher. I would not have been insulted.”  
“Whatever makes you say that, Phillip?” Her mistress asked, obviously confused and Dot had to press a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle.  
“Well, you called me Jack before. Repeatedly.”  
Now he did sound rather insulted, in fact like he was about to withdraw into a corner to pout. Dorothy knew Phryne Fisher well enough to be able to imagine the look on her face right now. She would bounce back however and sure enough, only missing half a beat, she spoke again.  
“Well, you do look like a Jack.”  
The maid took the opportunity to glimpse around the corner. Phillip had indeed a slight resemblance to Inspector Robinson, if mostly by the colour of his eyes and his haircut. Other than that he looked rather forgettable, Dot found herself thinking loyally. No comparison to the dashing policeman.  
“So, what does a Jack look like then, Miss Fisher?” The man asked oblivious to her train of thoughts.  
Phryne bit her lip that had only about half the amount of lipstick it usually held, while the rest was spread to several places on her and his face, in a thoughtful gesture and offered with a flirtatious smile: “Handsome, smart, charming....” Dot didn't miss the slightly glazed look in Phryne's eyes while she fought the impression that her mistress had currently not her bed partner in mind. The man however didn't seem to notice and was kissing Miss Fisher's naked shoulder in an effort to prove said charms to her. With a smile she ran her hands through his hair and only a very observant person knowing her quite well, someone like her assistant sleuth for example, could have noticed the glimpse of disappointment that ghosted over her features, before she latched herself onto his lips to start a second round.  
Dorothy Williams decided she had seen and heard enough. Taking a deep breath she straightened her shoulders and stepped out from behind the screen. Mr. Phillip had rolled himself on top of her mistress, showing her a naked butt that the maid rather hadn't seen and brought back the blush she had almost forgotten about. With quiet steps she rushed to the door while never taking her eyes of the bed, which went quite well till about halfway there, Phryne Fisher's eyes opened and focused on the servant standing in the middle of her bedroom, looking lost and a bit guilty. Her lips cracked into a knowing smile and she pulled her bed partner down into another kiss before he could notice the intruder, giving Dot only the slightest of winks. Releasing a breath, Miss Williams scrambled out the door and down the stairs. While she was glad to have escaped, she wasn't sure if she should tell anyone about this. A part of her burst to share the news with someone. Maybe Mr. Butler would understand her excitement about what she had witnessed or Hugh? No, definitely not Hugh. She couldn't help but grin, thinking about his face if she would as much as mention the sexual activities she had observed. And she couldn't exactly share the conversation without the circumstances. No, not Hugh. She honestly didn't feel a huge desire to tell Father Grogan either, even though she should probably confess this on Sunday. Dot was quite convinced the priest would find her actions sinful, even though she was not sure how she could have prevented them without maybe setting fire to the house. And while God's forgiveness might be eternal, there would have to be a lot of baking to earn Father Grogan's.


	3. Little Surprises

Bert awoke with a start. His head was pounding and someone had turned up the sunlight way to bright. But besides the usual signs of a bloody big hangover, there was something wrong. Very, very, incredibly and absolutely wrong. The wrongness seemed to have sensed his regain of consciousness, as it decided this moment to turn and mumble in a rather hoarse voice: “Mornin'”. At this, Bert all but jumped out of his bed. Really it was only the distinct lack of everything but his underclothes, that kept him from it. Instead his inner terror let him freeze, turning his head very, very slowly to the person who, by lack of space more than intimacy or so he hoped, was lying right beside him, touching his body in all the wrong places with his own. It took a moment for him to regain the control over his voice before he muttered: “And what the heck do you think you're doin' in my bed?”   
Cec, obviously not yet quite arrived in the world of the living either, gave him an apologetic shrug and tried to wedge the sheets between them as best as he could.   
“You remember anything of last night?” He asked with a small embarrassed smile. Bert suppressed the urge to shout at him that he really didn't want to, but found to his surprise that he drew a complete blank on that account anyway. Probably for the better, he grumbled silently to himself.   
“Nothin'“ He finally said aloud. „You?“  
A shake of the head was all the answer he had to expect.   
„Well can you get out of my bed now or did you wanna look at me with sheep's eyes a bit longer.“ Bert grumbled, growing tired of this bloody stupid situation.   
„Can't. You kinda trapped me in.” Cec answered in a tone that was way to calm for his friends liking.  
“So, this is my fault now? Bloody waking up with my best mate and the feeling that my fricking head is gonna explode is for sure not my idea of a good morning, you better believe it.”   
Nevermind his grumbling, Bert peeled himself off the mattress, dragging the sheet with him against all futile attempts of Cec to hold on to it. That turned out to be a rather bad move as his mate wasn't exactly any more dressed than himself. Bert covered his eyes a moment too late. He feared the picture of Cec in only a pair of tighty whiteys and a singlet was something that had burned itself into his conscience forever, never to be unseen again. While of course he was a communist and believed in sharing, Bert was quite certain there were things that you should keep to yourself. Right now he really felt no desire to look at his friend any more or worse, talk to him. Muttering obscenities under his breath he wrapped the sheet around himself and in a little hobbling dance worked his way through the room, picking up disposed off clothes as he went along. Something in his pounding brain suggested, that last nights pants were missing, which didn't increase his mood in the slightest. He finally managed to find some in the dirty clothes basked that was pretty empty since most of his gear had never found it's way there. They would have to do.   
Cec still hadn't moved an inch, instead trying to hide with a deer in the headlight expression in a complete lack of action.   
“You gonna stay there all day or maybe put some clothes on before I go blind?”   
Bert's irritation had somewhat waned with the safe feeling of clothes around his body, but for good measure he would keep berating his friend till they were both dressed and had managed to somehow erase last night's memory – whatever it might have been.   
Cec shrugged.   
“My clothes are gone.”   
The string of swearing that escaped from Bert's mouth at this would probably have even made Miss Fisher blush and that said something about it. Whatever had they been up to last night that had caused their clothes to not even make it into his bedroom, he couldn't help but wonder, as hard as he tried. In all his years he had brought home ladies that had never happened and that despite him for sure not being a blushing virgin. Trust Cec to lose his pants the first night they got too drunk to remember anything.   
Bert started his dance again, trying to find a second set of clothes that his best friend might even possibly fit into. At the moment he really didn't care how long things had been lying around on his floor as long as it stopped him having to stare at white undergarments. When he finally threw a pile of rather smelly clothes onto the bed, he found that Cec's mood had gone through a change. Calm and smiling no more, he grabbed a pair of socks that seemed to have spent a passionate night with a cheese grater and fiddled idly with it, looking upset. Bert sighed and sat down at the edge of the bed, pointedly turning his back to his friend.   
“Don't worry bout her, mate. She won't ever know.”   
“She knows I haven't come home last night.”   
“So you tell her you crashed at mine. Won't surprise her.”   
While that was true, Bert knew the problem lay somewhere else. They would know. Whatever the heck they had been up to in the gone night would have some impact on Cec's marriage and likely on their friendship, too. Damn Allen's home brewed grog. He rubbed both hands over his face in an attempt to clear his head.   
“Alright mate, I gather we better find out what happened.”   
“How you propose we do that then?”  
The fact, that Cec's voice sounded like he would break into bloody tears any moment together with his own skull that just started hammering again, let Bert's temperament flare once again.   
“We go and ask, won't we? Someone's gotta remember something, right? And if everything else fails, we ask Miss Fisher for help. What we know a lady detective for if not to find out things, ey?”   
He pulled himself upright in sudden resolve.   
„You put some clothes on and I'll find myself some pills for that stupid head of mine. Meet you at the door in five.” And off he went. Bert wasn't quite sure if he actually wanted to know what he'd gotten up to in the last evening. He dimly remembered sitting at Joe Allen's bar, chatting with the owner, actually more fighting with him over some Marxian theory that he couldn't remember anymore now. Not that it mattered. Cec had been playing cards with Tom and Walt at one of the tables. Seemed to have been rather enjoying themselves, hitting the grog too hard and too fast. Of course he just had to budge in there, hadn't he? Show them, what a real man was made of. Riffling through his kitchen drawers, trying to find the pill bottle Miss Fisher had pressed in his hand some time ago when he had been a bit out of it due to a splitting headache that may or may not have been related to a rather lose approach to beer the night before, Bert cursed himself for having been so stupid. Real man he was, dragging his married friend into this mess. Of course, it could be harmless enough, couldn't it? While Bert was aware there was men out there who preferred other gent's company, he had always been into sheilas himself and since Cec was quite smitten with his Alice, he assumed him to be the same. Then again, you didn't wake up in your tighty whiteys with another man half wrapped around you unless someone took your clothes off in the first place, did ya? Angry at himself the Cabbie kicked against the cabinet, regretting the decision the very same second as pain flashed in front of his eyes. Holding his foot he hopped through the kitchen, once again resourcing to all the swears he could think of in his muddled brain.   
“You alright?”   
He hadn't heard him coming.   
“What'd ya think?” Bert ground out, putting his foot back onto the floor and finally spotting the white pill bottle that innocently sat on top of the sink. He clutched at it like a starving man would grab at food and dry-swallowed three of them. He immediately felt better. When he turned around, Cec had creased up his nose in disgust.   
“Something smells off here.”   
“Well, what'd you expect in a bachelors kitchen, mate? Freshly baked bread? For that you better go home to your Alice.”   
Bert regret snapping the moment he saw the shadow cross Cec's face. Alright, so he needed to be a bit more gentle with him today. And pray, that he hadn't been too gentle with him last night. At the thought he shuddered slightly.   
“You ready?” He asked instead of digging any deeper into this and fished for his hat.   
“As ready as I'll ever be.”   
Just when they reached the door, someone chose to knock.   
Bert pulled it open with more resolve then he felt and found himself confronted with Walt, who was grinning way too much for his liking. Behind him, Cec seemed to think along similar lines.   
„Morning, guys. Slept well?“   
The men groaned inwardly. Walt was way too smug and that could only mean that there had really occurred something that they would never live down. Their eyes locked for a second, then Bert dragged his friend through the door and slammed it shut behind him.   
„Actually, we were just coming for you.“ He said.   
„Yeah, because we'd really like to know what happened.” Cec pushed in, unnecessarily.   
Walt found himself confronted with two rather angry looking friends and backed away slightly only to find that there was a rather solid door in his back.   
“You don't remember?”  
They shook their head in unison.   
“Nothing?” He tried again.   
“We wouldn't ask otherwise, would we?” Bert snapped. Their friend stared at them speechlessly, took in Bert's anger and the worry edged on Cec's face and then to their astonishment, burst into loud laughter. The host at this stage had troubles fighting the itch in his fingers to just grab the giggling man by his collar and shove him against the wall till he would spit out everything. Probably not the best move though with someone who knew more than you did yourself about something with a huge potential of embarrassment. He tried himself on a deep breath, when the laughter slowly subsided and Walt wiped a tear out of his eye.   
“So you just woke up together this morning? In your underwear, right?” Another giggle threatened to take his voice away while the men could just stare. Bert felt his patience slipping, but to his surprise Cec got their first.   
“Would you just stop your fricking games and say what to tell my wife when I get home to her?” He yelled. At this point, Walt forgot to laugh. Seeing Cec angry was too much of a shock, though his eyes still betrayed the fact that he kept thinking this incredibly funny and would tell the tale for many years to come. But he finally opened his mouth.   
“Nothing happened, boys. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about. You just drank too much and Bert puked on the way home. Rather good aim too, hit both of you with a thorough soaking.”   
Despite the disgusted look Cec threw him, Bert felt himself sigh in relief. So that probably explained the disappearing act of their clothes.   
“And how did he end up in my bed then?” He said, gesturing his head towards his fellow Cabbie.   
At that new giggling set in that died quickly at the thunder in Bert's eyes.   
“Tom thought it was funny to leave you both here. Said he'd like to see your faces waking up together. And really neither of us could be buggered to drag him home, too. He was singing.”   
Obviously that last statement was supposed to explain everything. Bert felt his fists ball up and decided to get rid of Walt before he would reconsider his choice in friends. After he had closed the door behind the still way too happy man, he found that Cec had ventured back into the kitchen to drag a disgustingly sour smelling bucket out under the sink. It held, no surprises there, last nights clothes. After filling the bucket with water, watched by his friend, he sat down on a chair heavily.   
“I better get going home then.” Cec said, his voice unreadable.   
“Yeah, you better. Wouldn't want your little wife to worry.” Bert said, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.   
His friend looked up, finding his gaze and nodded. “You know.” He uttered, his voice serious. “Not that I enjoyed this morning, but of any blokes I could've woken up to, at least it was you.”   
“Yeah.” Bert said, letting his friend know that that was the only response he had to expect. Cec got up and little later pulled the door shut behind himself. Bert still stood leaning against his kitchen counter when he heard the quiet clicking noise of the lock.   
“Better you than anyone else, mate.” He finally spoke into the resulting silence.


	4. Little Tricks

Tonight was the night. He could sense it. Quiet laughter sounded over from the dining room and Mr. Butler smiled into the dark chocolate cake he was just cutting into wedges. Detective-Inspector Robinson didn't often come for dinner. He tended to work late and then show up at Miss Fisher's doorstep unannounced to take in some liquids and conversation before heading towards a home that he obviously didn't feel too drawn to. Mr. Butler sometimes wondered if the man ever ate. Or slept. There seemed to always be too much work to be discussed and plenty of dashing about and chasing after Miss Fisher, both figuratively and literally, for the Inspector to ever really settle. The servant had a niggling suspicion that Jack Robinson had lived of cheese sandwiches for the gone years since his wife had left him and that his bed stayed cold most nights. Well all of this was about to change, wasn't it? Because tonight was the night.   
With skilled hands and a quiet little whistle on his lips, Mr. Butler arranged the dessert onto two plates, decorating the cake with cream and the plumpest, juiciest cherries he could come by at the market. It was the climax of a dinner the butler called himself proud of. Mrs. Butler had had a way with “special” ingredients, with asparagus and avocado, figs and oysters and Mr. Butler himself had always been a keen learner. He smiled at the memories of her proving her theories to him.   
All fruit was in place and the butler fished for a small bottle with old-fashioned writing on it's label that he unscrewed with vigor. A little bit would do. A few droplets of amber liquid that made the whole kitchen smell heavenly of vanilla, dribbled sensuous paths down the cream. If nothing else would work, this would. In truth Mr. Butler was too smart a man to trust in this sort of nonsense but he had been married for a long time and knew that Mrs. Butler had been a very level headed woman as well. And nevertheless she had believed in one sort of magic very strongly: In the power of true love that despite all odds, had to be pursuit and cherished. Carefully the servant screwed the lid back onto the bottle and returned the potion to the pantry. There was only a trickle left in the bottom now and then this memory of his wife would be gone, too. He recalled well when she had explained to him how it worked. It wasn't your classic love potion that did foolish things to peoples heads. No, this potion, or so the coughing old lady that had sold it to her, had said, would not induce anything that wasn't already there. It would just open the mind and eyes to the obvious and remove for the glimpse of a moment all things standing in the way of true love. And really, de-cluttering was part of his job as Miss Fisher's devoted butler, wasn't it?   
With a small grin on his face, Mr. Butler balanced the plates into the dining room. Neither of the two people there had the decency to look up when he entered. Then again, that was probably less due to a lack of politeness than the fact that neither of them seemed to really have noticed his existence – or anyone else's on the planet. Jack Robinson's eyes had fixed Miss Fisher's in a way that made Mr. Butlers heart sing and at the same time his cheeks develop a pink tinge. His Mistress' lips on the other hand had curled into a smile that her butler also knew very well. One had to be blind to not see the intimacy that sparkled between those two people. Then again, love was supposed to be blind, the butler mused darkly and served his dessert. Both thanked him, neither seemed to actually be aware that he was there. Mr. Butler retreated before he would stumble into the erotic mine field, he could sense building rapidly.   
At least half an hour must have passed as he was just washing the last pot, when he heard her walk into the kitchen and straight past him into the pantry.   
„Did you need more wine, Miss? I would have been happy to bring it.“   
Only a second later she appeared again, a bottle of the ruby liquid in her hand and a smile on her face that was rather cheeky.   
„Don't worry yourself, Mr. B. I will just pop open a new bottle. I think the Inspector might stay late tonight.” She grinned. So it had worked. Mr. Butler was in the middle of an imaginary pat on his own shoulder when he noticed her stepping closer to him.   
“It's a beautiful night, Mr. Butler, isn't it?” His Mistress purred, looking at him with dark eyes. Mr. Butler smiled politely.   
“Very much so, Miss. Rather romantic, I believe.”   
It occurred to him, that those words had been a mistake the moment he'd said them. Her smile turned into something very much resembling sensual. His smugness turned to confusion. Whatever was going on?   
“That is very true, Mr. B.”   
To his utter astonishment, Miss Fisher closed the gap between them, now standing entirely too near for comfort. He could smell her perfume on warm skin and things happened to him that he really was not ready for. No doubt his Mistress was an attractive woman but it had never occurred to him to actually be attracted. And honestly, he didn't have any intention for this to change. His body right now seemed to have other ideas. Mr. Butler felt himself panic as she reached out a hand to run it along his cheek.   
“Miss, I don't think this is appr....”  
“Don't be scared. I'll be gentle.” She interrupted him and moved even closer. He stared at her with wide eyes, trying to retreat into the kitchen counter. Was there a polite way to avoid kissing a woman? One that was your employer nevertheless? Whatever had he done to Miss Fisher?! It had to be the potion, it had messed with her...!   
To his incredible relief her lips avoided his and instead came up to his ear, parting for a quiet whisper.   
“A perfect night for a little drugging, don't you think?”   
She pulled back, the sensuous smile replaced by something a lot more icy in her gaze. Mr. Butler couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief all the same. He was in trouble, but at least not in that kind of trouble. He used the time it took him to sort his clothes with idle fingers to find the right words.   
“I apologise, Miss. It was not my place. But please believe me when I say I never had anything but your best interest in mind.”   
He looked at his employer, who appeared much more serious than he liked.   
“I do not appreciate my staff trying to poison me and my guests, Mr. Butler. So the very knowledge that you meant for the best when you overstepped the line is the very reason you are still in a position right now.”   
Her eyes softened somewhat. “And the fact, that you make the most delicious chocolate cake in all of Melbourne.”   
She licked her lips in an absent minded fashion that brought some beats of sweat to his forehead. Mr. Butler still felt rather shaken, but now tried to grip onto his sanity.   
“Thank you, Miss.”   
She nodded, obviously having already forgiven his misstep and turned to the door.   
“Oh, Mr. Butler. What I was wondering... have you ever dabbled in the dark arts before in this house?”   
He couldn't help but smile at the curiosity on her face and cleared his throat. He probably should just tell her, shouldn't he?  
“It's possible that Mr. Collins has occasionally found his tea tasting slightly of vanilla in the past, Miss Fisher.”   
Her red lips now cracked into a full smile.   
“I see. Well, Mr. Butler. Attempt to not kill anyone.”   
“I shall try my very best, Miss.”   
She nodded at him with sparkling eyes before returning to the Inspector, who, Mr. Butler was quite sure of, would share her amusement about this little tale. Only seconds later Miss Williams entered the kitchen, wrapped in her nightgown with her hair hanging loosely over a shoulder. She pulled the door shut before asking in an excited whisper: “How did it go? Did it work?”   
Mr. Butler took the time to fish his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the sweat of his forehead, before answering.   
“They found out. In fact, Miss Fisher played a rather cruel joke on me.”   
He decided that it was time to file this motion away into the furthest back of his mind. It really wouldn't do to blush every time his Mistress walked into the room from now on.   
“Well of course they did. You shouldn't have left the bottle in the pantry. They are two detectives and very smart ones at that.”   
Mr. B smiled.   
“I am well aware of that, Dorothy. Would you like some cacao?”   
While he put the kettle on, Mr. Butler thought of his wife and all the knowledge she had passed on. “Darling,” She had said; “Remember this: For a love potion to work it's best, the lovers need to know what they are taking.” And Mr. Butler understood that it was always smart to listen to a brilliant woman.


	5. Little Hurdles

“Oh, Hugh, it's beautiful.”   
The Constable watched the face of his fiancée twist into an expression of wondrous delight along with her whispered words. It was beautiful. But so was Dottie, when she was happy or excited or... always really. With a proud smile on his own face he watched on as she took in their surroundings. He only just had discovered this little hidden spot in the Yarra Park himself a few days ago, in hot pursuit of a thief who had had the cheek to steal a ladies handbag right under the policeman's nose. And while he had run after the man who had later given him some bruised ribs and spent a night in the prison cell, leaving it in a state he rather wouldn't tell Dottie about, he had stumbled into this magical little place. And Hugh Collins had instantly known that she would absolutely adore it - even at high speed. Here, the Yarra spilled lazily against a bank of warm sand, framed by the deep hanging branches of willow trees that hid them completely from any unwanted observers. On the other sides the little spot of grass and soft moss was surrounded by a thick wall of trees and bushes, filtering the sunlight into spots of fairy dust littered over the dark green floor. Here Hugh Collins had spread a big, chequered blanket right beside a picnic basket, that he had to admit, Mr. Butler had helped him with. While Miss Fisher had distracted Dot. So really, it had been a group effort but nevertheless he was proud of his accomplishment, especially now that Dorothy turned to face him with the kind of smile he hoped he would often see during their long and happy marriage.   
“Is there a special occasion for this?” She asked. Constable Collins had to think about this.  
“Yes, I mean...no, not really. But yes, kind of.” He trailed of and looked at her, searching for words. “I have met you today, exactly one year, five months and three days ago.” Hugh finally stated in the kind of voice that made her heart flutter. It didn't make any sense to celebrate this day, she guessed. But then again, that made it all the more special. Still smiling she brushed a kiss to his cheek and sank onto the blanket. It was rather cool in here, a wonderful contrast to the rest of the city that was brooding in the heat of this December afternoon. She looked up at Hugh, who seemed a little lost. It made her wonder if there was any thoughts behind this besides celebrating their one year, five months and three days anniversary. “Hugh?” She asked gently, stretching out her hand to pull him down. He snapped out of his musing.   
“Would you like some wine?”  
Dorothy Williams had never in her life drunk wine before it was dark outside. Even in her time with Miss Fisher she had stuck to tea in the afternoon. Something just felt wrong about it, probably due to her thoroughly conservative breeding. Then again, Catholics really were rather fond of wine, weren't they?  
“I would love some.” She heard herself say before she had time to put in a veto. With idle fingers Hugh pulled out two glasses that looked suspiciously like Miss Fisher's and with some effort popped the cork of a bottle of white wine that for certain had it's home in Miss Fisher's pantry. Dot didn't dare asking if the lady detective knew about this little adventure. There seemed to be hardly anything happening that she didn't know about. To her relief Hugh finally sat down after pouring them a glass each and stretched his legs out, just brushing against hers in the slightest of ways. The sensation made her spine tingle. Dottie took a sip and leaned back onto her elbows.   
“It really is beautiful here.”   
They stayed silent for a while, listening to an annoyed bird screaming in a tree and the small waves of the Yarra splashing against the shore.   
“It made me think of you, Dottie.” Hugh said, in an embarrassed tone but with his eyes big and full of sincerity. “Because you know... it is breathtaking.” The last part of the sentence was uttered so quietly that she could hardly make out the words. She decided to blush anyway.   
“That, Hugh Collins, is probably the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”   
Now it was his turn to blush and he distracted her quickly by taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. In that very moment something inside of Dorothy Williams snapped. While the Catholic in her really thought this was a bad idea, being out in a quiet spot alone with a man and a glass of wine, the thoroughly modern woman that had begged to come out ever since she had made the acquaintance of Phryne Fisher, considered this to be actually quite perfect. She looked at Hugh with something in her eyes that let the breath catch in his throat as she reached out a hand, weaving her fingers through his hair. Dorothy Williams had never been this forward before and the look he gave her in return caused her to feel drunk with excitement. That was probably what nudged her over the edge and so she fell down the rabbit hole, bringing her lips to his in an act of courage she had never dared to even consider before. Hugh didn't seem to mind. He hummed contentedly into her throat, as their tongues wrestled in a kiss that wasted no time in going from chaste and friendly to wild and longing. His hand, the one he didn't need to keep himself from keeling over, ran over her back in a way that made her skin tingle underneath the layers of clothes and Dot felt a gentle heat spread through the depth of her stomach that seemed vaguely familiar. It cooled off rapidly however by the sensation of something cold dripping down her leg. She pulled away just as Hugh jumped up, trying in vain to safe the expensive wine from spreading everywhere. Dot was the first to catch the fallen bottle and with a less than sensible giggle she fished for the napkins tucked away in the basket, exactly where she suspected them. With a mumbled apology on his lips and flushed cheeks, Dot wasn't quite sure if from embarrassment or something else altogether, the Constable tried to pat the puddle his accident had left behind. The effort left both of them, the blanket and their clothes soaked and smelling faintly alcoholic.   
“I'm so sorry, Dottie.”   
Upon the sorrow displayed on his face, Dorothy couldn't help but give into the giggle that was still lurking in her throat.   
“Don't worry, Hugh. It is a hot day, it will dry in no time. Now, where did we stop?” She asked, tilting her head slightly in a way that she hoped was alluring. It did work for Miss Fisher. Obviously not on Constable Collins though.   
“I think we should probably have our picnic. There is a lot of things Mr. Butler said you were sure to love. There is chocolates and cheese... and prawns...” He turned around, holding a splendid specimen of a King Prawn between his fingers. Dot sighed inwardly, locking her amused gaze on him. She stood up and took both his hands in hers.  
“Hugh?”   
“Ouch.” To her surprise he suddenly dropped the prawn to suck on his bleeding finger. Some seconds went by with his face twisting in restrained annoyance and hers in entertainment. Then he dropped his arms by his side, a look of disappointment to himself that touched her heart.   
“I'm sorry Dottie, I planned all of this to be perfect and it's a complete disaster and I wanted this to be wonderful and...”  
“Hugh, stop. Please stop. It is wonderful and I love it.”   
He shut up, looking at her in wonder. Dorothy found herself stretch up to kiss him again. And this time it was perfect. His arms wrapped around her, their lips melted together. He tasted sweet and Dot found her head was swimming. Damn her priest, she was sure that god knew exactly that Hugh and her belonged together, marriage vows spoken or not; and here, today, on their anniversary, it was the time. She pulled only back slightly to look at him. His cheek had a pink tinge to them that she was sure had nothing to do with embarrassment this time around and he had lost his breath. She found more delight in that little fact than she would have cared to admit. Gently she pulled him down on the blanket that still smelled of spilled wine. It didn't matter. Dot curled a hand around his head and brought her mouth to his eyebrows, brushing a lingering kiss on them, then his lids. Hugh bit his lip in indulgence, tightening the grip around her hip. He felt himself respond to the smell of her hair, the touch of her gentle fingertips and really he wished only he could stay here with her forever. He had to suppress a disappointed groan in his throat when she pulled back and only reluctantly opened his eyes. The look of shock on Dots flushed face tore him from the sphere of wonder he had been floating in.   
“Dottie? Are you alright?”   
He gripped her hand and realised that he was feeling rather hot. Probably her doing he mused, as she was still staring at him, her mouth agape.   
“Hugh, I think we should go.” She finally pressed out.   
“But...” He didn't get any further. Of course, he had gone too far. She would have to be angry with him, he had almost lost it.  
“Now, Hugh!”  
She sounded muffled. Strangely his ears seemed to be blocking up. Constable Collins tried to get a grip on himself. As much as felt the disappointment currently haunting his stomach, something else was odd. He shook his head, trying to clear it and realised that she was still looking rather worried.   
“Dottie, we don't have to...”   
He didn't get any further, as she interrupted him rather rudely.   
“Hugh Collins, will you please get up, we need to get you to a hospital and now. I'm quite sure that this colour of skin is not natural. Neither is the fact that your face seems to have doubled in size within the last five minutes.”   
His fiancèe had gotten to her feet and extended her hand before her words had even sunk in. Dutifully he took it and let himself be pulled upright. With complete disregard to any of the nice food that was left behind, Dorothy ushered him out of their hiding place and the park and into a cab that was luckily just coming along. Only 15 minutes later, Hugh found himself under the watchful eye of Doctor MacMillan, who diagnosed an anaphylactic reaction to an innocent looking piece of seafood that he would luckily survive.   
”I would recommend staying away from prawns, oysters and some such in future spells of romance.“ He heard the redhead say, feeling himself blushing furiously. ”They are rather overrated as a form of aphrodisiac if I may say so, Constable.”   
Hugh could do nothing but wholeheartedly agree. The King Prawn had definitely spoiled his romance with Dottie this afternoon. His fiancèe was still sitting by his bedside, grasping onto his hand as if she was scared she could lose him if she would let go for a moment.   
„Other than that you should be fine. Just stay here for a while till the swelling has subsided. You wouldn't want to scare the kids.” Mac continued, before leaving the room with a suggestive wink. When the door hat shut behind her, Hugh looked at his Dottie and opened his mouth just to be cut off before he could even utter a word.   
“Don't you dare apologise, Hugh Collins.” She snapped. He closed his lips, staying silent. To his utter surprise she slipped onto the edge of the mattress without releasing his fingers and peppered his swollen face with little kisses. He closed his eyes, trying to not think of all the things he really had wanted to do today. Hugh could still feel her cooling breath on his face when she pulled back.   
He opened his eyes in question and found her smiling.   
“What is it?” He enquired.   
“Nothing, Hugh. I'm just waiting for the bed to break down or an earthquake to shake the city or maybe the sky to fall down.” She mused with a quiet little grin.   
The Constable shared her smile and leaned in for another kiss. He could wait - or so he guessed.


	6. Little Confessions

Mac was not a vengeful woman - but she would make an exception for her. It wasn't only the eager willingness the lady had displayed in the past to let her take the fall for a murder she hadn't committed, which the Doctor couldn't quite get herself to forget. It was the self-righteousness she exuded that really rubbed Elisabeth MacMillan the wrong way. The truth was: While she really was used to “sailing close to the wind” as Phryne would put it, Mac had never aspired to be different. She didn't chase freedom in having it her way like her oldest friend did. It wasn't an indulgence to turn societies expectations upside down. It had just transpired to be the way she was. And Elisabeth embraced it as best as she could. She had learned to speak her mind, stand her ground, dress like a man, work like a man and turn her back to people who treated her with disgust for loving who she loved. It was her life after all and she'd be damned if she wasted it. Even right now she had no intention whatsoever to do so. As if to prove that, she raised her glass of champagne to a group of male doctors who eyed her with suspicion. Women in the job generally had that effect. It would take about three minutes before the first of them would try to chat her up. About five before he'd realise that he was onto a lost case. And about ten before he would have informed the rest of the group. Mac smiled a cynical smile and turned her back to one of the guys looking strangely lost in his tuxedo, who was obviously just considering to head her way. She drained her glass and grabbed another one from a passing tray. So the same procedure as last year. She would keep rotating the room, nod and smile a bit, try to not offend anyone who had enough money to help the hospital – which would be a rather tough task, since the room was filled with rich and easily offended people - and sneak out as soon as the possibility arose for a quiet drink at Phryne's. Unless of course the Inspector's car was parked in front; in that case she would have a quiet drink alone at home and cross her fingers that her old friend would finally take the blinkers off before she herself would get desperate enough to pounce on the DI, just to drive the point home. Mac shuddered at the thought. Nothing against Jack Robinson, dashingly handsome and brilliant as he might be. Just not her type of human being.   
She hadn't noticed that the subject of her earlier thoughts had rotated herself quite far through the room herself and bumped into her, just as Mac turned to grab another glass. The one in her hand had mysteriously emptied in no time at all and to get through this night, she really needed some more alcohol. Sometimes she wondered just how much this hospital could raise if it would not serve champagne at its charity nights. Was the ease that the bubbly caused the collected ladies and gentleman to dig through their pockets with, really making up for the immense cost of watering a whole ballroom with French wine? Bumping hip first into the rather impressive backside of Prudence Stanley ripped the doctor from her thoughts rather rudely.   
“Doctor MacMillan!” The Lady exclaimed in her typical mixture of busy excitement and annoyance. “How lovely of you to come.” She smiled something that she probably thought of as charming and tried to move on, but a sudden thought had popped into Elisabeth's head. One that made her grin inwardly.   
“Mrs. Stanley. What a beautiful job you've done tonight.”   
The doctor knew 'Aunt P.' well enough to know that this little compliment would compel her opposite to stick around for the moment. And while that might have been about as far from her goal as it could have been just a minute ago, it was now her resolve. She would have a chat with Prudence Stanley. And she would enjoy herself immensely.   
Twenty minutes went past with pointless chatter about decorations, the new children's ward, Jane's adventures in Europe that Prudence found suitably intolerable and her new maid that did not know how to prepare a proper high tea just yet. Elisabeth stifled a yawn, trying her hardest to look interested, all the while keeping the glasses in their hands full ones and an eye on the by now slightly glazed look on Mrs. Stanley's face. She had successfully stirred them towards a quiet and darkish little corner absent of the dance floor and out of the direct view of anyone she knew, in a little step-by-step dance. That part was important for her plan.   
'Aunt Prudence's' mimic was unusually animated tonight, her language alive in a way an overdose of champagne would affect it in someone who usually only sipped alcohol politely, and for a moment Doctor MacMillan pondered if she really would go through with this.   
“...look at this woman carrying on in such unchristian ways. She should be ashamed of herself.” Mac followed the gaze of her conversation partner towards a nurse who was animatedly but harmlessly flirting with Doctor Gerard, a married man who had recently separated from his harpy wife. Alright, so she would go through with this after all, she resolved, gulping down another glass of bubbling wine. Mac by now felt pleasantly light headed and was wondering just how far Mrs. Stanley was gone. By the uncharacteristic flush of her cheeks and the fact that she had drunk probably about double the amount of the doctor, she expertly guessed, quite far. Time to act. Smiling Mac leaned in as to share a secret and whispered: “Oh, you wouldn't have an idea what people in this hospital get up to, Mrs. Stanley.”   
Prudence's eyes widened in shock at this, but her face betrayed openly a certain hunger for gossip that the her opposite had counted on.   
“Is that the case, doctor?” She gulped, hardly hiding her excitement about this sudden turn in the conversation.   
“Oh yes.” Elisabeth all but moaned and stepped just that tad closer. “Unbelievable things, Mrs. Stanley. You know this doctor and that student, oh I forgot the names, such a shame. They were caught the other week in one of the patients rooms, with hardly any clothes on. Quite the sight, I am assured.”   
She watched her opposite swallow hard at this, still curious but also getting slightly uncomfortable. A little closer. Prudence backed off slightly, but then again, Mac was not a beginner; she had made sure there was a very solid wall not too far. Something in her foggy brain reminded her that she was gambling with her job right now, despite the alcohol seeming to suffocate efficient thinking at this stage. Prudence Stanley had immense influence on the hospital board and it would take a lot of hard work to talk this little chat away when she was done with her. Then again, the blush creeping down the neckline of her conversation partner was worth it.   
“And have you heard about the incident in the laundry? Two nurses, tangled in the dirty sheets. Unbelievable.” Mac whispered hoarsely, her mouth only inches from Prudence's face. Big, shining eyes were locked onto hers in breathless silence, the face distorted in utter shock. In fact, Doctor MacMillan was surprised Mrs. Stanley had lasted this long without running away screaming. She probably would have to push a bit further, even though she knew she was by now beyond going too far. She bit back a grin and slowly moved a hand up the wall, effectively locking her opposite in position. By now her breath must've brushed her skin, but to her astonishment 'Aunt P.' seemed to have frozen to the spot rather than be in the hysteric meltdown she had counted on. Mac breathed out slowly, trying to figure out what to do next. The decision was taken away from her by a hand that gripped her head with some force and pulled her into a teeth-clashing kiss.   
Doctor MacMillan found herself dimly wondering if she was dreaming this. It was more than unreal and definitely not something she had ever wanted to happen. Serves you right, she scolded herself, while trying in vain to detangle herself from the arms that held her in a death grip. If you played with the fire, you couldn't complain if you got burned. Then again, when you encountered an unexpected fire, the best way to deal with it was to put on the kettle, she mused. Before she could act on her resolve, however, Mrs. Stanley pulled back with the kind of look on her face that you expect if someone awakes from a nightmare to find the monster standing beside her bed. Mac hardened her shields, fully expecting to be berated in the harshest of manners by a lady in denial. It wouldn't be the first time she would take the blame for someone else's “unnatural” passions. To her utter amazement though, Prudence just made a complicated side step, similar to a little dance, untwining herself from Macs rather lose grasp.   
“I would like to express my sincerest apologies, Doctor. I don't know what has gotten into me.”   
Something glittered suspiciously in her eyes and Elisabeth found herself rendered speechless, before Prudence made a sudden turn and vanished in direction of the balcony at a less than ladylike speed.   
Dr. MacMillan stood for a moment, trying to sort the events in her champagne soaked brain. Then she sighed deeply and followed her. However this had gotten out of hand she was not sure, but she had meant to play a little joke on Aunt P's iron morals and prejudices, not stumble head first into her closet to greet the skeletons. And when had she started to give a damn about this stuck up woman anyway? The answer to this, she knew exactly. About two minutes ago, when she had discovered something about Phryne's aunt she had never thought in the faintest bit likely.   
The fresh night air cooled her heated skin. Mac found Mrs. Prudence Stanley standing at the balustrade, looking up into the glittering night sky. She didn't turn around but from the way her shoulders went rigid as she approached, the Doctor could guess that she had noticed her all the same. She decided to stand beside the older woman and give her time for her thoughts. It wasn't an easy situation and if anyone knew that, then probably her.   
“It is rather strange.” Prudence said after a while to nobody in particular. “One marries, as it is proper, has children as it is expected and right. And nevertheless it seems to be always that little bit wrong, you know?”   
Mac didn't know. She had been too little of a coward to live this way – or maybe too much of one. Whichever way you wanted to twist it, there was no easy way to deal with finding that you didn't quite fit into the very round shaped holes of society, because nature or god or whoever you wanted to blame, had made you a square. She suddenly noticed that she had been watched for a while.   
“I believe there is no point in regrets, Doctor. It is too late to change the path I have taken.”   
The doctor grinned into the darkness.   
“Believe me if I say, it is never to late for that.”   
There was a glimmer in Mrs. Stanley's eyes that assured her that this lady was not quite as dead as she made herself out to be. The second kiss was different. Much less desperate and also involving a whole lot less teeth. Mac realised, as she held someone who in her darkest nightmares she had never expected to kiss in this life time, that she might be a bit more vengeful than she liked to admit but she was not cruel enough to deny a starving woman food. Though her dignity might take a rather harsh beating tonight, even Prudence Stanley deserved some common courtesy. When they pulled back, her kissing partner indeed looked like she was drowning in confusion.   
“I believe, Mrs. Stanley, this is not the place and time.” Mac said, glancing in the direction of the still humming ball room. In sudden resolve she extended her hand and waited. If it wasn't taken, she sure as hell would walk inside, enjoy the rest of her night with Phryne's Whiskey and never so much as look back. But only a few silent seconds later five sweaty fingers wrapped around her own and Mac pulled her new acquaintance back into the house and down the servants stairs. Knowing that Prudence would never take her home to her mansion in fear of her gossiping staff, the Doctor gave the cab driver her own address. They didn't talk much on the way there, but nevertheless their fingers stayed firmly entwined. They didn't talk much either once they arrived there, if for completely different reasons. Mac found herself astonished at the fact that, while Prudence might have been clumsy in her attempts to please her out of sheer lack of experience, she was actually enjoying herself. At about 3 am in the morning, when they finally lay shoulder to shoulder in her bed, staring into the darkness, she heard her bed partner say, in a voice that slowly returned to the woman she knew:  
“You are aware, Doctor MacMillan, that if anyone should ever discover the truth about this night, I will deny all knowledge of the events?”  
Mac smirked into the darkness and lit a cigarette, before she answered.   
“So will I, Mrs. Stanley.”   
Their eyes met and they shared a quiet smile while the moon threw dark shadows onto the sweaty sheets. When Mac awoke the next morning she didn't have to open her eyes to know that she was alone. It didn't worry her, however. Somehow she knew that Prudence Stanley would never cause her troubles again.


	7. Little Discoveries

Phryne Fisher felt her heart hammering in her chest. Really it was not all that adventurous, nothing in comparison to standing in front of a killer with bare hands or taking home a handsome stranger. But nevertheless, the excitement of the chase always got to her. With as much grace as the height of her heels allowed, she slipped into a doorway and waited till the woman she was pursuing had moved on from looking half-heartedly at some colourful scarves displayed in a shop window. Phryne wasn't exactly sure why she had even taken this case. Maybe it was simply boredom or the way the man had looked when he talked about his lovely wife. Adulterers really didn't concern Miss Fisher much, personally. Her moral codex just wasn't strict enough to feel the need to judge anyone on grounds of who they slept with. Then again, a nice man standing in her Salon deeply upset about his wife cheating on him, hadn't lost his effect on her. So she was now following Mrs. Iris Walker through the streets of Melbourne's city. The lady didn't seem particularly nervous for a philandering wife on the way to her lover and the biggest challenge so far had been to not lose her in the crowds of Bourke Street. In a wild and rather unladylike dash, the Honourable Miss Fisher closed the gap between the target and herself, just seeing the brunette throwing one suspicious look over her shoulder, before stepping into a more quiet side street. Phryne turned the corner seconds later and let out a sigh of relief as she spotted the well cut bob not too far in the distance. Her own heels cluttered a bit too loud on the cobbles of the sidewalk, now that they weren't drowned out by the chattering of hundreds of pedestrians and the roaring motors of the cars driving past. In fact the noise seemed to echo somewhat of the walls. But still Mrs. Walker did not turn around. She must feel really safe, Phryne pondered with some confusion. Really, Iris Walker didn't strike her as the typical cheating wife. There was no guilt to the way she looked, no sneaking about in the way she moved, no hiding in the clothes she dressed in. Actually, she was wearing a beautiful piece that Phryne Fisher felt almost compelled to ask her about, once this was over. Then again, if the detective cemented her divorce, Mrs. Walker was unlikely to feel like sharing her fashion secrets with her. What a shame. With a sway of her slim hips that would probably take any man's breath away, Iris stopped and turned towards the front door of a small coffeehouse. Phryne tried to halt herself as casual as she could, by busying herself in a newspaper stand that just happened to cross her path at the right moment. Picking up a paper, she locked her eyes onto the lady, who seemed to ponder if she had chosen the right place. She had, as it turned out, since she pushed the door open with some resolve. Alright, so this was finally getting interesting. Throwing a few coins at a grumbling newspaper seller, Phryne hurried over to the big window, just in time to catch a glimpse of Iris Walker greeting a tall, dark-haired man with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. He was turning his back to her, but the detective couldn't help it – he seemed familiar. Her heart skipped a beat as the stranger turned. He was familiar! Miss Fisher's mouth fell open as she stared at the face of a very happy Jack Robinson. Iris wasted no time in taking his arm and leading him further into the Café and therefore firmly out of Phryne's view. The lady detective pondered this for a moment. She could probably leave right now and tell Rupert Walker that he had been right about his wife meeting another man. A clever and handsome one who would likely have feelings for her or otherwise he would not meet her at all. Phryne shook those thoughts off as fast as she could. The couple had met in a coffeeshop rather than in a grubby hotel room which meant they were probably still in early stages of their relationship. It was even possible that Jack didn't know that Iris was married. Then again, he was a policeman and a good one at that. He could not have missed it, could he? Phryne bit her lip, trying to fend of the unreasonable feeling of disappointment creeping under her skin. She was in a good mind to leave it at that, but then again, she could not. She needed some hard evidence to present to her client. A clear gesture, an overheard conversation, a signed confession – Anything would do. Phryne Fisher straightened her shoulders and stepped through the glass door. She spotted them straight away. Jack and Iris sat in the far back in a dark little corner of the busy cafè, each nurturing a cup of coffee and chatting along animatedly. “Looking quite cosy.” Miss Fisher mumbled under her breath, ignoring the silent stab in her chest at the view.  
“Pardon me, Ma'am?” A waiter asked who had snuck up on her. Phryne almost jumped at his voice but found her composure quickly enough to order a tea to be served to a table near the lovely couple. They were in fact looking nice together, she found with a start. Jack's face was glowing in amusement and Iris Walker was an even more attractive woman from the front than she was from the back. She also looked very at ease as she told Jack an obviously highly entertaining story, her red mouth smiling and her hands waving through the air. Mrs. Walker really seemed like an incredibly nice person. Phryne hated her.  
Quietly she slipped onto a chair that was separated from Jack's back only by a small passageway and a rather ugly pot plant. Neither of the two had noticed her, too deeply were they enthralled in their conversation. The buzz of the busy coffee shop made overhearing their exact words near impossible, but bits and pieces were carried over to Phryne's curious ears. Obviously Iris told a childhood story from her boarding school, involving amphibia of an unknown sort. Jack laughed a throaty, relaxed laugh that made Miss Fishers spine tingle and woke the urge in her to get up and strangle him. Or possibly kiss him. The thought floated past before she could get a grip on it. What?She shook her head in disbelief and stirred sugar in her cooling tea. Her ears pricked, when the mood on the next table shifted.  
“So, you are considering a divorce?” She heard the Inspector ask before a newly arriving group of costumers muffled the rest of his words.  
“....Rupert just doesn't seem to care anymore.”  
Phryne felt herself tense. So he did know. And he was sitting over there, relaxed and laughing with a woman who would leave her husband for him. A man with big, sad eyes, waiting at home for a wife who was in the arms of Detective-Inspector Robinson. She gripped the cup so hard that it spilled tea over her fingers. Swearing under her breath Phryne wiped the liquid up with her napkin. She could really leave now. Everything was said. But something let her stay glued to the spot.  
“You know it's not easy. Being divorced.” His thoughtful words drifted over in an almost silent moment. The sorrow colouring them broke her heart. Glimpsing through the leaves of the plant, she could see Iris respond something that was completely inaudible and reach out a hand to put it over his soothingly. He had never talked with her about his divorce from Rosie. Miss Fisher had found out by a slip of the tongue from Hugh Collins and decided to never mention it till Jack would. Which he never had. He obviously rather talked with Iris about this kind of things, let her comfort him when he hurt. The lady detective suddenly made a very uncomfortable discovery. There was unasked for tears in her eyes and that finally convinced her body along with her mind, that it was time to leave.  
With uncoordinated fingers she grabbed for her handbag and hat and was about to rush out of the cafè without much regard of who could see her, when her heel got stuck on a inconveniently placed terracotta pot. With more noise than should be provided by a silly little Maidenhair fern (a name that Phryne didn't know but would have found ironic if it would have been pointed out to her), the plant toppled over, spilling soil over the floor, while brushing the Inspector over the head with a shower of leaves. Phryne wished for earth to open up, but it stayed stubbornly solid under her feet. Jack turned and rose, his eyes widening in surprise, then a knowing smirk joined into the variety of emotions displayed in his mimic.  
“Miss Fisher?” He said, with less astonishment than was to be expected.  
“Jack?” Phryne's voice sounded shrill to her own ears. “What a surprise. I didn't know you to visit this place.”  
In fact, she didn't know him to go to Cafés at all, she realised. The policeman never had taken the time to invite her to a cup of coffee and laugh at her stories from boarding school. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and chose to ignore them. Her eye got caught by Iris Walker, who looked interested at her before getting up to calm down a rather hysteric waiter enquiring about the health of the plant. While to her feet, the staff started to clean up, Phryne couldn't move. The rest of the costumers had lost the interest in the scene and chatter picked up again. The Inspector was the first to find his voice in the invading silence.  
“Miss Fisher, may I introduce you to Mrs. Iris Walker...”  
With a wave of the hand, Phryne cut him off.  
“Jack, I'm afraid, I need to talk to you. In private. Please excuse us.”  
She smiled a tight lipped smile at the other woman and pulled the surprised looking Inspector away from his lover, who watched the scene unfold with interested eyes that glimmered in amusement.  
“What are you doing, Jack?” The lady detective whispered urgently. He raised his brows in a way that let her know in no uncertain terms, that he considered her to have gone completely insane now.  
“What are you referring to, Miss Fisher? Drinking coffee? Being bashed over the head with pot plants? Spending an afternoon not chasing after a murderer?”  
“Jack, she is married! Iris! To Rupert Walker, who cares so little about her that he sent me after her to find out who she's cheating on him with!” On the last sentence Miss Fisher's voice had grown rather loud, not caring any longer if Iris could overhear their conversation.  
Now, the Inspector looked gobsmacked.  
“Phryne...” He started, but found himself interrupted yet again.  
“I know it's really none of my business. I just haven't ever seen you as someone who would have an affair with a philandering wife.”  
That was true, she realised with a start and the overwhelming disappointment threatened to take her breath away. Panting, she stopped. Phryne could imagine what she looked like right now. Slightly disheveled from her incident with the fern, upset without a real reason and embarrassed beyond belief. She had to leave and fast, before she would break into tears and make everything worse. Her resolve was completely derailed by Jack grabbing her arm and pulling her back to his table, where Mrs. Walker was waiting with a curious look painted on her pretty face.  
“Let me try this again.” The Inspector said in his calm, authoritative voice that allowed no protest.  
“Miss Fisher, may I introduce Mrs. Iris Walker, my cousin. Iris, this is the Honourable Phryne Fisher, a brilliant, if slightly insane lady detective, that thank god, has gotten it completely and utterly wrong today. It is the final prove that she is human after all.”  
The Inspector glanced over to a blushing Phryne with a twinkle in his eyes. A moment long she thought she would die on the spot, then, in an act that would have astonished stylists across the planet, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher returned; straightened her shoulders; shook her hair back into place and switched on a smile.  
“Nice to meet you.”  
Iris was obviously surprised by this turn of events but took the offered hand after only a seconds thought.  
“Even though the Inspector has never told me he had family in town.” Miss Fisher added.  
“You never asked.” He replied, without missing a beat.  
“I, on the other hand, have heard plenty of you, Miss Fisher.” Iris smiled, which caused Jack's brows to rise, yet again.  
“Have you now?”  
“Of course. Miss Phryne Fisher is causing quite a stir in society, Jack. Sharp mind and even sharper sense of fashion.” The Woman smirked, letting the Inspector all but release a sigh of relief. The real reason why he's had no intention whatsoever to bring those two women into one room at any time in his near future, lay in something completely different, that he would make damned sure to never mention. Of course Miss Fisher had derailed this plan completely in her usual subtle fashion.  
“Would you like to join us for some coffee, Miss Fisher, or were you in a hurry?” He asked pleasantly. The Inspector was not sure, what answer to hope for, but Phryne didn't have to think about this offer twice and sat down, disposing of her hat.  
„How lovely of you to invite me, Inspector. I really would like to meet your family.“ Jack groaned inwardly, but nevertheless dropped back onto his own chair.  
„I am really sorry about the inconvenient timing, but I am afraid I have to see to a rather urgent matter. Maybe another time?“ Mrs. Walker pushed in, getting up.  
Torn between disappointment of not getting to know Jack's cousin after all and being able to spend some time alone with the Inspector, the lady detective shook Iris' hand and watched on, as she brushed a kiss onto Jack's cheek.  
“Take care of yourself, old chap. I'll see you at Christmas. For Uncle Walter's duck, God help us.”  
To Phryne's surprise, Jack giggled (!) at this and with a friendly “nice to meet you”, Mrs. Walker swept out the door. Two pairs of eyes followed her, then Jack picked up his cup and lifted the cold coffee to his lips.  
„So you have a cousin in town.“ Miss Fisher stated conversationally. „And an Uncle Walter, who enjoys cooking duck.“  
The cup clattered back onto the saucer, but the Inspector took his time to swallow.  
„He enjoys shooting duck. The cooking is done by his wife Esmeralda, who is, if I say so myself, the worst cook on this side of the world.“  
„So that's three family members you have never told me about, Inspector.”  
“True, Miss Fisher. I also have two siblings, plenty of cousins, grandparents, an adorable niece and a less adorable nephew and amazingly I am even in possession of a father.”  
“What about your mother?”  
“She died, five years ago.”  
“I'm sorry, Jack.”  
He looked at her over the table and knew that she was. Why had he never told her, he wondered. Maybe really because she had never asked. How was he supposed to know what to share with her? Her eyes begged the same question. So he shared. Everything.  
Meanwhile, a street further down, Iris Walker crossed to the other side of the street, just to be grabbed by a man who had, up till a moment ago, leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette. He pulled her into a quick kiss, then backed off laughing.  
“So, how did it work out?”  
“They are not having an affair.” Iris stated.  
“But you don't look too happy.”  
The woman chewed on her lip thoughtfully before answering.  
“He's head over heels in love with her.”  
Silence invaded the conversation for a while.  
“That's worse, isn't it.”  
“For Rosie? Yes, it is. She's fighting a lost battle and she knows it.”  
“I'm sorry, love, I know you were hoping they would get back together.”  
“She's my best friend, I introduced them and she is still in love with Jack. Of course I was hoping. But it isn't to be, Rupert. I will tell her tomorrow.”  
She took his arm and for a while they walked quietly along the pavement.  
“Honestly, I don't understand what this little charade was trying to achieve. She divorced him, didn't she?”  
Iris Walker sighed.  
“Yes, she did. But I wanted to find out for her what's going on between them and I couldn't exactly ask him to invite her along. And... from her reaction, I tend to believe, Jack's battle might not be as lost as Rosie's.”  
“You think she is in love with him?”  
Iris shrugged, pulling her husband closer to herself.  
“I'm afraid, I'm not enough of a detective to figure that one out.”  
They smiled at each other and then they walked home, arm in arm.  
Oblivious to this, a pair of detectives was still sitting in a small Café just off the major roads of Melbourne City, currently sharing stories involving Amphibians of unknown description. Suddenly Phryne stopped, putting on a face that told Jack she just had a thought shaking up her brain.  
“What is it, Miss Fisher?”  
“You are aware that your cousin has been lying to you, right?” She asked, matter of factly.  
He smirked.  
“Yes, I am. But so have you.”  
She shared his smile. He knew her too well.


End file.
